


Kings and Vagabonds

by snakenshake



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Other, Plot, Post-Recall, Slow Burn, Southwestern Gothic Americana, Strangers to Frenemies, fits in between canon events, modern wild west, original but lore compliant setting, someday Porn but not yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-24 17:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15635280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakenshake/pseuds/snakenshake
Summary: In the years since Overwatch met its explosive end, Jesse McCree has let the wind carry him to every corner of the globe. Now Jesse returns to the devil's den he crawled out of a lifetime ago: his home state of New Mexico in America's cratered, devastated Southwest. Deep inside, he knows it's not just the bounty hunters and international authorities he's running from. A dark shadow from the past haunts (and guides) him. But that's not the only thing bothering him in the small boom town of Reclamation. There's a cocksure, peculiar man with an archery set and mysterious motives staying here, too. Jesse is determined to stay awhile in the home he pines for, but the possibility that this man is a bounty hunter is too real to ignore. Who is this archer with the granite stare? Where did he come from, and why is he here? Jesse McCree can't put the past to rest until he knows.





	Kings and Vagabonds

    If you want to keep a secret, look to the desert.  
Secrets are born and buried here. They seem to be of the land itself, appearing in the form of ancient cities hidden in the canyons, as unexplained lights in the skies, as sun-bleached wooden crosses standing in file. There’s little wonder why it was chosen to hide atomic tests and nuclear waste.

    During the Omnic Crisis, the secret government bunkers across the Southwestern desert states were targeted by the robotic hivemind. No one knows for sure what they sought there or why they wanted it, but the United States fought hard to keep it away from the Omnics. When an Omnic breach seemed inevitable, the military destroyed one of its own facilities. Planes and missiles bombarded a top-secret complex into the ground. Despite it, the U.S.A. was eager to call it a victory. But it came at too great a price to many. The international community decried it as a Pyrrhic victory, if one at all.

    The events of the Crisis left a deep scar on the people, too. In the aftermath, chaos reigned. Populations hemorrhaged from big towns until they became ghost towns. To secure sensitive sites from looters and hostile interests, the United States put boots on the ground and on citizens’ necks. There were plenty of parties happy to take advantage of the fear and anger of the people, and patriotism was easy to mold into into tribalism. The desperate and vulnerable followed charismatic strangers into communes and enclaves, arming themselves with ideology and ammunition. Those who stayed did so because they couldn’t leave, or, like the native nations who had rightful claim to it, because they had a spiritual connection to this land. For those who remained, even the protection of cults and gangs seemed a frail haven from the cruel whims of fate. Where would disaster come calling next? And who would be to blame for it?

    Decades after the Omnic Crisis, the desert remained littered with Omnic remains and unexploded ordnance. Would-be prospectors combed the desert with dreams of finding riches and found death of exposure. It was a dangerous gig. Between dehydration, the rugged landscape, and bloodthirsty claim jumpers, your funeral rites were liable to be delivered by coyotes with vultures as your undertakers. But not even the guarantee of death could stem the flow of fortune seekers fed by rumors of riches. They said that somewhere out there, a government bunker laid abandoned, its contents free for the taking. The allure of finding a cache of rare earths, weaponry, even experimental tech, kept folks chasing that mirage. Times were tough; first dibs on a mother lode like that could have you set for life and beyond. You’d have no trouble finding someone to take your plunder off your hands. Some of them would even pay you for it. Agents for shadowy groups and of gangs thought long gone were known to pay handsomely for a good find. 

    Word spread fast when the bombarded remains of an Omnic battalion was discovered out in the high desert. The salvage was strewn far and wide, but riches awaited those who would seek them. But canny businessmen knew the real money was in the prospectors. The folk had a need of services, and services had a need of business. General stores, physicians, and houses of vice were some of the first to set up shop. In these fleeting settlements, people asked few questions and cast little judgement. They were a natural haven for outcasts.

    One such town called Reclamation seemed as likely a place as any for a wanted criminal to safely hunker down. Somewhere in the southern Rocky Mountains, one Jesse McCree stowed himself away in the bed of a pickup truck. He wedged himself between a crate of chickens and the rest of the cargo with his back against the cabin, tipped his hat forward, and settled in for the long, bumpy ride. It wasn’t very hot unless one happened to find oneself in the bed of a truck with the sun beating down. Winter still staked its claim on the night, and the sun could barely banish it during the short days. Unless one found oneself, again, in direct sunlight, lying on hot metal, without a breeze. Out of the corner of his eye, Jesse saw the crated chickens pressing their faces to the space between slats, beaks agape as they sought a cool breath. With a short sigh, Jesse took off his hat and held it over the hens to shade them from the sun. He had to pity them. They didn’t have as much of a say in being here as he did.

    Dusk was settling in when they approached the town of Reclamation. Fitting his hat back on, Jesse pulled a nugget of gold from his pocket and set it where he’d been sitting. It was less out of dedication to his aesthetic and more out of practicality that he carried gold. Cash had serial numbers and fingerprints, and even a toddler could trace a credit trail. Luckily, gold was always valuable, and even if his driver was unaware of his passenger, it only felt right to pay him for his trouble. And it never hurt to have some good karma in your favor.

    Carefully, Jesse leaned over the side of the truck bed to plan his landing. He swung his legs over, dangled, then aimed away from the tires and cast himself away from the moving truck. And directly onto the unforgiving ground. He tucked and rolled, but still found himself a little worse for the wear as he stood up and shook the dust off. Painful as it was, it was for the best. His courteous driver would get into town before him, and avoid catching any of the heat when trouble caught up to Jesse McCree.

    It didn’t concern him too much to walk the rest of the way into town. It gave him time to appreciate the view. He’d seen the sun set all over the world, but only here did it strike the sky with its swan song of neon orange and hot pink, and cast the land in such vibrant shades of violet as night fell. The sight of the sunset alone was worth the risk of coming back here.

    Jesse held the dog end of a cigar in his mouth and patted his pockets for a lighter that, turns out, was no longer on his person. He sucked his teeth in dismay. He’d been looking forward to that. At least he was almost to town, and surely someone there had a light to spare. He could hear the dull but powerful drone of the generators that powered the town, and the flood lights had been switched on. The outskirts of the town were an organized mess of tarps, tents, and vehicles, but further ahead he could see that more permanent buildings had been erected. It seemed that despite the remote location, the salvage field was profitable enough to justify that kind of investment.

    The long, uncomfortable ride in the bed of a pickup had left Jesse with an almighty thirst. His first order of business: finding someplace to fix that. He left the tent city behind and walked onto the main street. It was a broad, dusty strip illuminated by blindingly bright floodlights. The bars and bordellos that faced each other across the thoroughfare advertised with eye-catching neon signs. It was barely past dusk, but patrons spilled out of the doors already, mingling with  employees trying to poach their neighbors’ business. Booming music and raised voices came together in a dull roar. Jesse stopped and leaned against a wooden post to watch the lively crowd from a distance. He’d hardly stand out among them, but he was hesitant to get mixed up in it just yet.

    Compelled by a sixth sense, Jesse directed his gaze upward. He’d stopped beneath an open second-floor balcony. Above him, a man leaned against the railing, smoking a cigarette. A bright floodlight behind him obscured his face. Even holding his hat against the halo of light, Jesse couldn’t read his expression.

    “Howdy,” Jesse called, cautiously. He nodded at the cigarette. “Reckon I could bother you for a light, stranger?”

    The stranger stopped and seemed to watch Jesse for a long moment. Then, he reached for something and held it out over the railing.

    “Much obliged.” Jesse reached up a hand to catch it.

    The man pretended to drop the lighter, but caught it with a flick of his wrist.

    Jesse dropped his hand to his side, giving the man an annoyed look. “Alright then,” he muttered, starting to leave.

    “Come up.”

    Jesse stopped. He looked over his shoulder at the stranger, who looked from Jesse to the double-back staircase. Before taking him up on his invitation, Jesse gave the place a once-over. The first floor appeared to be solid adobe, and the windows were dark, the door on front closed tight. Could be a converted house; maybe it was already here when the town popped up around it. There wasn’t any obvious danger, but it was never the obvious danger that did you in. He stepped onto the deck of a bar built onto the top story of the adobe house. The doors to the bar were open, and Jesse could see other patrons inside. It was a much less rowdy establishment than those pumping music into the night below. Jesse looked at the man who’d ‘invited’ him upstairs.

    The stranger didn’t stand up so much as adjust the degree of his lean against the railing to look at him as he approached. Jesse tipped his hat again in greeting, careful to keep his recognizable metal left arm beneath his poncho. For a moment, both men sized each other up. He couldn’t see a firearm on the stranger, but the way he held himself raised Jesse’s hackles. This man radiated with confidence. He could just tell he thought he was better than him. Jesse glanced at the lighter in the man’s hand. “Beg your pardon.”

    The stranger looked at the lighter as if he’d just remembered he had it. _Drunk?_  The stranger held the lighter out again, but this time as he reached out, he flicked the wheel and ignited it. Jesse hesitated, glancing at the stranger’s face. His expression was unmoving, his eyes piercing despite the drunken tinge to his cheeks. The stranger watched him, waiting. Jesse clenched the cigar in his teeth. This was a power play, and it pissed him off. This guy had something Jesse needed and was seeing how far he could push him to get it. The flame on the lighter flickered.

    Jesse gave in. He held the cigar between index and middle fingers and leaned forward, turning the cigar to make sure the flame took. When he leaned back up, the stranger was looking at him. Still. It gave Jesse unpleasant goosebumps. _Don’t let him know he got under your skin._

    “Much obliged, again,” Jesse said, turning. 

    He’d walked only two steps when he heard the stranger give a quiet laugh. Jesse stopped, his fist and teeth clenched. Was he really going to let this guy get to him like this on his first night in town? If what he wanted was to feel powerful, it'd only serve  right into his hands to get mad about it. Jesse let a smoky breath out, cracked his neck, and walked on. Let this sad little man get his kicks in whatever pathetic way he could manage. He probably wouldn’t even see this guy again.


End file.
